#how many times can i use these same three lines from chapter 132

[tenjin-no-shinja]

Chapter 4 The History of a Myth: The Sun-Goddess and the Rock-Cave

Origins

Kojiki and Nihon shoki tell about ancient gods and heroes in solemn, poetic language. The genre is instantly recognizable from other cultures across the globe, and few have hesitated to call these books works of myth…

There are countless definitions of myth… from Bruce Lincoln (1999) we will focus on one universal feature… myths tell us about the origins of things in a distant past, a time that was in some way more “true” than our own. Myths answer the question of how things came to be the way they are today, and seek to establish once and for all that this is how they should be. As is clear from Kojiki and Nihon shoki… the “Age of Gods” fades seamlessly into the “Age of Man,” this focus on the past makes myths overlap with history… also a difference between them. History is a narrative form that relativizes the present by showing that things were different before. Myths, however, present the order of things as absolute and unchangeable, hallowed by that order’s origin in a divine age.

… “Myth” is not a closed corpus of tales from a distant age before history; rather, myth making is a continuous practice that occurs at all times. Myths consistently present themselves as tales without an author, thus creating the illusion that they belong to a special dimension, as tales told by a divine voice — or, in a more modern view, by humanity’s collective subconscious.

—Page 131

…the myth of the rock-cave can be readily understood as an explanation of sun eclipses, or of the sun’s decline in autumn and “rebirth” after the winter solstice… widespread mythological theme, right across the northern hemisphere… such a reading is confirmed by the fact that this myth was closely connected with rituals that were performed on the very day of the winter solstice… there is much more to this story and a “primitive” explanation of a natural phenomenon… such a simple view ignores the myth’s political and ideological aspects… the myth as it appears in Kojiki was a thoroughly historical product, shaped by political and social changes in a very specific context.

…Amaterasu is presented not only as the sun-deity but also a weaver… a very different interpretation of the myth’s background and meaning… In [Michael] Como’s reading… the weaving maiden Amaterasu died and entered a confined space similar to a cocoon, only to re-emerge in great splendor after a dangerous incubation period… mirrors the life of the silk-worm, known in China as the miraculous “insect of three transformations…” Nihon shoki describes how “the way of raising silkworms began” when Amaterasu “put cocoons into her mouth and drew thread from them” (Aston 1972: I, 33)… immigrant groups of weavers… conducted silkworm cults at shrines dedicated to a sun deity called Amateru or Amaterasu at various places in Japan… suggests that sericulture and weaving were, at least at an early stage, at the very core of the rock-cave myth.

—Pages 132-133

…Ninigi was accompanied by many of the deities that also figure in the tale of the rock-cave…. In the story of the descent from heaven, they are explicitly identified as ancestors of the main priestly lineages at the court… the priestly tasks that these lineages performed at the court coincided with the roles played by their ancestors in front of the rock-cave.

—Page 133

Table showing the main lineages, from the book.

…Rituals worked not only because they followed the right procedure, established in heaven, but also because they were performed by the right persons, authorized by their roots in that same heaven. Both episodes, then, can be read as origination legends of the imperial line and its priests. The tale of the rock-cave is not only about the seasonal return of the sun, or even about silk; more importantly, it staged the emperor as Amaterasu’s representative on earth.

—Page 134

…Amaterasu praised Ise as “a land washed by the waves of Tokoyo.”④ It is striking that while all of these Ise elements were echoed in the “main version “ of the Nihon shoki, they are absent from the second and third versions recorded there. These are the version that do not name Amaterasu, which suggests that these elements were added to an older tale in Tenmu’s time, when Ise priests gained a foothold at court.

—Page 135

④ From the End Notes: “Nihon shoki, entry Suinin 25/3; Aston 1972: I, 176. Tokoyo, which means “eternal world,” refers to a divine land located across the sea. In this particular passage, there is a pun on tokoyo, a homonym meaning “eternal night”: the roosters from the “eternal world” across the sea from Ise bring an end to the “eternal night” with their crowing. Michael Como has further thrown light on early connections between Tokoyo and, again, silkworm cults (Como 2008, ch. 2).”

…Ame-no-Uzume emerges as the deity of a lineage of female priests called the Sarume. The Sarume addressed their worship to the shining, dawn-like Saruta-hiko; or to the “sun-deity”; or to Amaterasu, depending on which version of the myths we prefer… Our quotation from Nihon shoki presents Saruta-hiko as a luminous solar deity, but he also has markedly phallic features… In fact, Ame-no-Uzume’s sexual dance makes more sense when it is addressed to Saruta-hiko than it does in the rock-cave tale. Like Ame-no-Uzume, Saruta-hiko is a deity of sex and fertility, and his appeasement in midwinter may well have been a local rite to secure renewed fecundity in the coming spring season…

—Page 136

…chinkonsai… mitama-shizume…both meaning the “settling of the spirit.”

Chinkonsai was performed every year at the winter solstice, one day before the rite of offering the first fruits (niiname, or, in case of a new emperor, Ōnamuchi or daijōsai)… was also performed at other times… emperor was ill, to strengthen his spirit… court priestesses called mikannagi performed a dance in which an overturned tub was struck with a Sakai stick decorated with bells… The dancing, shaking, and tying of knots all served as rites of reviving and stabilizing the spirit of both the sun and the emperor, who in this ritual merged into one… also included an offering of food to the revived spirit of the sun/emperor, and ended with a communal meal (Matsumoto 1974: ch. 3).

…Matsumae Takeshita… proposed that these different rites can be traced to different lineages: the tying of knots to an ancient tradition of the Yamato royal line itself; the shaking and the sword to the Mononobe from the Isonokami Shrine near Mira; and the striking of the tub to the Sarume from Ise (Matsumae 1974: 137-8)…

—Pages 137-138

…the tale of the rock-cave is a perfect illustration of the dynamics of matchmaking in ancient Yamato. Beneath the surface of this apparently simple tale there are many layers of different origins. These layers are traces of power struggles between lineages from various parts of Yamato’s inner sphere… various elements… woven into a single narrative with one dominant theme (imperial power), updated time and again on the basis of recent political developments… the Yamato myths derived their significant from their ability to stay in tune with their own time. As soon as they lost their ability to adapt to the circumstances, they also lost much of their authority.

—Pages 138-139

[levihantrash]

Hi! Got a prompt for you if you're interested (feel free to write a drabble, a one-shot, or a multi-chap): Levihan, "One more chance." Open to interpretation. Thanks, and good luck! :)

okay so i decided to combine this prompt together with my headcanon for that levihan ring merch for a canon setting one-shot!

One More Chance

"What do you think of rings?" Hange asks Levi out of the blue, in the little room that could suffice as an office for his unofficial position as second in command.

"Why?" Levi knows that Hauge doesn't ask questions out of the blue without motives.

They could be random, absurd, silly, but there was always a reason behind their questions.

Hange plants one elbow on the table, bent forward in anticipation for Levi's answer. His eyes catch the glint of Hange's bolo tie as it swung back and forth.

Jewellery? Vanity aside, Hange knows better than Levi how expensive it is to obtain warm clothing and food, much less a bunch of shiny rocks. They spent days mulling over the Survey Corps’ budget, where to allocate resources, how to seek funding, and to keep expenses humane but tight.

“Why?” He repeats, unsure as to whether to sneak in a crass joke as Hange’s eyes were shining—in a different tone compared to the bright-eyedness that showed whenever they made a new discovery. It was, what was it? Nostalgia? Levi is certain that Hange had never, of ten years being by their side, even hinted at a desire for a ring, for whatever reason they might yearn for the object.

Hange knows Levi is perturbed—suspicious, even. They know that such an ambiguously-worded question, simple as it was, will not warrant a straightforward answer from Levi. He is far too observant to not think of Hange’s line of questioning as uncharacteristic from the usual. The usual Hange will elaborate; they will give details. Perhaps this is a ring made from a special sort of metal to go undetected from metal sensors to sneak past the enemy and pass on valuable information etched in code on the inside, for example. Whatever reason that prompted Hange to take a sudden interest in rings wasn’t for battle, or for moral good, which frankly, is more embarrassing for them.

“Do you keep those patches with you?” Hange changes the topic. Levi blinks, then turns to the drawer and pulls the handle. The open drawer speaks for itself; filled with rows and rows of haphazardly torn patches of the Survey Corp’s uniform, the emblem of the wings of freedom.

“You keep it here, huh…” Hange muses, touching one patch tenderly, feeling the crusted blood stain at the tip of their finger.

“Do you remember who each patch belongs to?”

Levi shakes his head, not defending the lack of differentiation between the patches. To him, each patch is louder than a name attached to it. A fellow soldier whose heart he carried on within him.

“If I die, Levi, will you bring back my patch?”

“Don’t ask stupid questions.” Levi is quick to retort, sounding mildly irritated that Hange brought up the possibility of death.

“We all die someday.”

“We should think about how to stay alive,” Levi says firmly. “And what does any of this have to do with rings?”

Hange laughs, patting Levi on the shoulder affectionately. “You won’t let that go, huh?”

“It seems important,” Levi says, disgruntled. “You’re not usually so hesitant.”

“It’s not.” Hange waves their hands defensively, straightening up to avoid Levi’s gaze.

“What’s that in your pocket? Your hand keeps touching it.” Levi is sharp as ever, Hange thinks, itching to back out and tend to more important commander duties.

“Maybe next time! I have to go!” Hange brisk-walks out of the office, leaving Levi in the dust. He has the immediate urge to follow them, to grab their arm and ask what’s wrong, to force some kind of coherent understanding to this muddled conversation. Yet, he continues sitting on the chair, wondering if their mutual awkwardness had swept past them in the form of a lost opportunity. The patches flutter a little in the wind, as though asking him, what are you so afraid of?

He closes the drawer and sinks back onto the creaky, wooden chair, waiting for Hange to come back.

The next time he sees them again is when he’s so battered that his back trembles at the prospect of sitting on another hard surface. The series of negotiations, arguments, plans, fly past him in a whirlwind of decisions led by Hange. He occasionally spots the bulge in their side pocket, but his head is spinning with a million of other more dire worries to figure out what the hell is this unresolved mystery from months ago.

One night, as Hange tends to the bandages around his head, traces the stiches on his face, and mumbles quiet nothings about how they’re glad he’s alive, he finally lifts a shaky hand to point at the bulging pocket.

“Are you going to tell me what’s in that?”

“Nothing that will help us stop this mess,” Hange says, sweeping some of the fringe off his forehead to wipe the sweat underneath.

“But it’s important to you,” he states. Hange nods slowly.

“And you want to show it to me.” He tries, unaccustomed to the presumptuousness of his claim. But there is little time. If there was ever time before, now they were running on thin, cracked lines of time, teetering over the edge.

Hange sighs, and stuffs a reluctant hand into their pocket to bring out a small box.

“Don’t worry, I didn’t use the Scouts’ funds.”

“The Survey Corps doesn’t exist anymore,” Levi reminds them, to distract his mind from speculating endlessly about what’s in the box. He wants to sit up. Physically straining himself feels unwise, so he settles with tilting his head to get a clearer view of both Hange and the box.

Hange carefully holds his shoulders to sit him up, leaning him against them.

“I got rings for us.”

“Huh?”

The box is opened, and inside were two shining rings in silver and gold. Purple embellishment on the gold and green on silver. Not to mention it was heart-shaped rings. Levi feels his cheeks getting warmer by the second by its blatant implications, and is thankful that the bandages literally covered half his face.

“I know, I told them not to make it heart-shaped but you know when Reeves knew it was for you he said I had to make it obvious, whatever that meant,” Hange says quickly, snapping the box shut so as to save themselves from having to confront what was glaring at them.

“It’s not practical for fighting,” Levi murmurs, reaching out to take the box from Hange.

“Dedicate your hearts… wasn’t that what Erwin said?” Hange, always the one to inject light humour in tense situations, decides it will be alright to quote Erwin’s war cry in what is essentially a confession.

“Right.” Levi opens the box, looking expectantly at Hange.

“What?”

“Rings are for wearing, right?”

“You said they weren’t practical!”

“We’re not fighting now.”

Running their hands through their hair, Hange looks rather sheepish. “It’s a bit selfish but I just want to be remembered. As more than a patch.”

Levi frowns, bandages crinkling. “You think I’ll forget you?”

“I don’t know.”

“I won’t forget you. Ring or no ring.”

Upon hearing the seriousness of Levi’s voice, the light-heartedness returns to Hange, as they cheekily present the ring to them.

“Well then, will you dedicate your heart to me, shitty Captain?”

“Whatever, Four-eyes.” He says it as flippantly as he can, yet handles the ring like sudden movement will break it.

“Hah! I wonder what the kids will say about the rings…” Hange stretches out and lays beside Levi, admiring the ring on their hand amidst the backdrop of night stars. He takes their hand and weaves his fingers through it, placing their interlocked hands on his chest.

After the plane takes off, Levi’s eyes are trained on the floor. The plane rattles, swerves, and gains momentum. Everyone around him is emotional—rightly so, because their leader had said a fleeting goodbye before leaping to their death. He holds one hand in the other, feeling the cold metal on his finger. Rings don’t leave the smell of Hange’s skin when they lie their head on his shoulder after a long day. Rings don’t capture the sound of Hange’s laugh when they make friendly banter with their juniors, or when Levi makes the occasional, dry joke that only they pick up on. Rings don’t emulate the dialogue of their late-night discussions in his office, the tea that he makes and that they drink from the same cup—to save the time needed for washing, according to Hange. He doesn’t protest.

Still, the ring is all he has left. The one chance Hange had, they entrusted in him this ring. They could translate Levi’s words into more palpable versions for other people, but they could not for the life of them come up with words to express their more vulnerable feelings. For Hange, the ring was another chance to cement what remained unspoken: I hope you remember me. I’m here with you.

The last chance Levi had, he placed a fist on their heart.

“Dedicate your heart.” The ring flashes in the sunlight, making Hange blink back tears.

Now, he clutches one hand in the other.

“See you, Hange.” The ring stares back, patiently. He closes his eyes, bringing the thin, metal sentiment to his lips.

“Keep watching us.”

thank you for the prompt @djmarinizelablog !! ^_^

[shunkani]

Chapter 132 Levi/Hange Analysis

Summary: An attempt to explain the sentence in chapter 132

Levi: I see your one sided love with Titans still goes unrequited, four-eyes.

Hange: ...We’ll be getting along soon enough.　（…すぐに仲良くなるさ）

Disclaimer: this is just interpretation and not meant to be taken as official proof of romance between Levi and Hange in Attack on Titan. This is theory and nothing else. I’ve read multiple tweets and essays to compile my own thoughts.

I personally do not have any qualms with other ships, and this essay doesn’t discredit other Hange or Levi CP’s. Also, sorry but this essay has no pictures. 

Lesson_____

A quick Japanese lesson (and language comprehension); I will try to make it painless. I make no assumption on the reader’s Japanese level/English grammar understanding and will be talking about it as is.

When は is combined with another particle, it puts emphasis in a way such as English has intonation. Since Japanese does not stress tone (like how one says the words sarcastically/meaningfully/sadly/cheekily) it uses particles to do this job.

So, when Levi says, “相変わらず巨人とは片思いのままだったなクソメガネ“

It means literally, “As always, still an unrequited love with Titans, four-eyes.”

Naturally, “Your love for Titans is one-sided, as usual, four-eyes.”

In Japanese, using には or とは creates a third, invisible option that is outside of the realm of the sentence.

When you use に or と or even は by itself, it creates a one dimensional statement. When used with other particles combined with は it creates another, outside dimension to the sentence. A third suggestion or comparison. は can be used as a comparative or stress particle as well as a topic marker.

quick example.

I didn’t go to the library with him. ->彼と図書館に行かなかった.（ Forward statement. It is as it is. ）

I didn’t go to the library with him. ->彼とは図書館に行かなかった （Implying I went there with someone else, but not him. ）

Just like you’d expect, English speakers understand the implications of stressing “him.” Just as Japanese speakers understand the implications of とは etc. If we stressed library(図書館には）instead of “boy” (彼とは）then it’s implication is that we didn’t go to the library with him, but maybe somewhere else. I hope this is clear. 

____

Okay, on with the analyses. Just a note again, but I’ve naturalized any Japanese so that it’s not literal, but the meaning is the same so it’s easier to comprehend for native English speakers. I’ve changed “I” to “we” considering I formatted to fit essays.

From  ストリキーネさん’s essay

Like others have said, Levi’s words feel like his true confession. Whether it’s romantic or not, it’s up in the air, but while making small talk and commenting about his long time comrade in arms, it seems like this comment is loaded with unlabeled feelings, like “You gross me out, but I feel something special for you and I get you.”

It feels natural to say “You still have unrequited love for Titans.” right after the banter of Hange and Pieck’s exchange.  {note: 巨人に片思いのままだな is using に here, not とは, so it feels natural to say に）

So why did he use “とは” and not ”に”？

If there’s official announcement that say’s there’s no meaning to it, or that it’ll be corrected in the official volume, then this sentence will be meaningless. But if it’s intentional or even unconscious decision, we get the impression that he is recalling a third person (”me” ie Levi) among Hange and the Titans. 

 Moreover, hearing “four eyes” was unexpected and we can only imagine it was surprising for Hange too. Since we might have never expected that we’d hear “four eyes” in the original manga again, it’s perplexing, but feels filled with something like nostalgia. 

With Hange taking over as commander and the world rapidly changing, we get the feeling that there’s a distance between them, at least from what is shown to us from the story. 

Because of this short exchange about Titans, all at once we are brought back to “An eccentric, Titan-loving section commander,” and “Captain who’s fond of four-eyes,” and it’s moving. 

There’s a little pause (note: talking about the “...” before Hange starts talking) at the end of Levi’s lines and the start of Hange’s dialogue. One wonders if it couldn’t be a mix between surprise and relief on Hange’s end. 

Also, as many others have said, Levi is answering Hange’s “I’d prefer if we live here together,” from the forest, to the best that he can. There was no reason to look back at that scene in relation to this because Levi seemed to have brushed off Hange’s shocking statement, but since everyone was referencing that scene, a second re-examination was in order. (Note, the author actually said something a little more personal, so I condensed it to match a more essay-like statement)

Levi could have been surprised.

Someone who he’s known for a long time, and supported each other, and can admit that (Hange) can be troublesome sometimes, but also they hit it off well, yet each of their own responsibilities have become heavier and the world is in this state... in a situation like this, when suddenly alone together in a quiet forest, he might think Hange has stopped thinking if seriously suggesting to run away and saying things like “let’s live together.”

Under circumstances like this, if it were us, we’d likely want to do it, but remember we have responsibilities, maybe we don’t know what the other person feels, perhaps we’d rather we never heard it, so we pretend not to. In Levi’s case, perhaps pretend to sleep (pretending to not be able to hear it) or when he wakes up, change the subject completely.  

It’s unlikely that Levi could give an answer on the spot, and would want time to figure it out. 

(There’s more to the essay but it’s thoughts on relationships between people and some other things that don’t apply to the quote)

ーーーーー

Notes concluded from various twitter surfing:

Many JP fans think Levi’s statement alluded to the forest scene. It’s like his clumsy answer to Hange’s proposal, since he didn’t give a direct answer. Actually the essay above felt his answer was cold and ignored Hange. But Hange doesn’t seem displeased about it. 

As many have said, Hange and Levi are definitely “adults” in this world. They both understand it’s not feasible to do the things they want to do, because their duties supersede that. Hange carries the immense duty of commander, and both hold the responsibility to stop Eren or fight for humanity as a whole. 

It’s rather evident to me, even as an ordinary reader, that Levi did not want Hange to go. In fact, Hange says, 行かせて, “let me go.” and anticipated Levi would try to stop Hange. Mind you, it’s not “release me” but “I have to do this, so don’t stop me.” It took him three panels, focused on his dead-like eyes to finally say “Dedicate your heart,” something he’s apparently never said before. To me, “Dedicate your heart” is a self-sacrificing quote when applied to the Survey Corps. Pretty much “go in bravely, and don’t expect to come back.” Levi is a “Live and come back’ type. The strange thing is that Levi puts his hand on Hange and says it.. in Hange’s place..? It’s a salute before battle, but here it feels like a gentle sentence. Why it was delivered that way? I hope that Isayama will answer these questions in future interviews. 

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

Another thing, Levi says みててくれ to Hange, a now deceased person. Levi has never asked anything from the dead. He’s mentioned fulfilling his promise to Erwin about killing Zeke, but some have found it strange for Levi to ask Hange to “Watch me (kill Zeke.”) (edit: the point is that Levi asked Hange to keep watching him, so it seems that his promises and goals may have changed)

One user said something pretty sad. “For Levi, I think Hange is treated as a MIA. Even if there’s no chance of survival, if Levi looks at Hange’s death, Hange has ended for him right there. So since Hange hasn’t ended, he said “ watch out for me.” That’s the reason why Levi, who’s looked at dead soldiers in the eye, didn’t look at Hange.”

It’s simply, Levi didn’t say “Rest in peace,” or “Goodnight.” but “See ya, Hange. Keep looking out for me.” 

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

Going back to the quote about Titans, the summary is, that in Japanese, Levi’s speech seems incredibly nuanced because he uses language that suggests that Hange and him have come to a mutual feeling, and it’s simply by stating “with Titans” (but there’s a mutual love with me). That’s why the above essay questions if this isn’t a misprint or mistake, or perhaps it’s nothing at all. (I want to point out, that one user suggested it could refer to Eren, but it seems unlikely) 

This is his “answer.” And Hange says...”...We’ll get along soon enough.” 

There’s a “...” before Hange says that, indicating a pause, whether out of surprise by being called “four-eyes”, or carefully thinking on how to respond to “とは” 

Some other notes before I close this up, I thought this was a nice thought on LeviHan:

Hange was introduced while talking and having contact with Levi and Hange exited while talking and having contact with Levi. Really, Hange’s story started and ended with Levi. 

＿＿＿＿＿＿＿＿

I apologize if this seems everywhere, I’m not particularly fond of writing, but for Hange’s last chapter, I feel like English speakers should get in on what Japanese levihan fans were saying. 

終わり

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 14

“Does this mean we’re free to go?”

“I… don’t know.”

Previous

Read chapter 14 on AO3 or read below:

Cardan and I pass the water bottle back and forth until it’s empty, without speaking. When he reaches over and sets it down on the floor beside the mattress, I know what he’s thinking. I’m thinking it too, but I don’t want to voice it aloud, because that would mean moving and doing, and neither of us want to do that. I want to stay tangled up in the admittedly horrible blankets, my side pressed against Cardan’s, while I catch my breath and take stock of myself. I feel drained and thirsty, but strangely loose, like someone’s stretched me out with a taffy machine. Like the kid in Willy Wonka.

But I am also sore, in ways I did not expect and in places that I did not expect either. Thighs, yes, of course. But my core? If I clench my abs it hurts. And inside, too, I feel a little scraped raw, and I wonder how I’m supposed to bang out a whole heat without tearing something if this is how I am after just a few hours. The first time is supposed to be a little worse, though. A little more awkward. Maybe the next one will be better. Then I realize I am making plans for the future.

I stop looking at the unfinished basement ceiling and look at Cardan instead. We have come uncoupled from our final round, so he is next to me, not flush against my back or chest like he had been. The light plays on his tousled hair and his cheekbones and very full—even more full now that they are swollen—lips. He’s always looked like a statue carved by a sexually frustrated hand, and this is probably the most obscene I’ve ever seen him, but there’s something at peace and almost angelic about him right now. I don’t know whether to be bothered by it or not. I look at the ceiling again, tracing a line of tubing with my eyes.

“They haven’t come to check on us in a while,” I say at last.

“Yeah,” Cardan agrees, but he doesn’t move to do anything about it.

“We should figure out what’s going on.”

“Well, we were very loud.” He grins. “They probably didn’t want to interrupt.”

His smile is infectious, but my own fades quickly. I glance at him, then beyond him to the door. “It’s been like twelve hours. I think we need to check.”

“You think I need to check.”

I roll my eyes. “Yes, Alpha.”

“Oh, no,” he groans, bringing a hand to cover his face. A blush is creeping into his cheeks. “Don’t do that.”

“It’s the only time you’re going to hear it.” Very lightly, I kick his shin. By now he knows if I meant it to hurt him, I’d just hurt him. “Go on.”

Cardan groans again, then rolls to the side of the mattress, rummaging for his clothes. I am disappointed when he stands and pulls his jeans back on, but, since his back is turned to me, I take a second to admire the way they sit on his hips. He actually has a nice ass, and it feels weirdly refreshing to allow myself to think it without judgment. A lot of guys don’t. I can see the scars criss-crossing his back now, and there are fewer of them than I thought, and more faded. I am relieved for a second—fewer scars have to be a good thing, right?—until I remember that there are plenty of other ways to beat Cardan without leaving permanent marks and feel a flush of anger.

“You okay?” he asks, pulling a white shirt I haven’t seen before over his head. “You’re all over the place.”

I bristle. He’s referring to the thing both of us are avoiding. I can sense him too now, the same looseness I feel in my body, the relief, and the same spiky undercurrent of nervousness. It has to do with scent, to how we’re now much more attuned to the chemicals the other person gives off. I should have known better than to open myself up to something like that.

Before I can open my mouth to dismiss his claim, Cardan twists around to look at me. The t-shirt he’s wearing says “I went to the Hamptons, and all I got was this T-shirt!” in big, kitschy blue lettering, and I nearly choke on my own laughter.

He pulls the shirt out, frowning as he reads the lettering. “I mean, is it that bad? Gauche is kind of in, right?”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I know. You like it.” Cardan crosses the room and knocks on the door. “Hello,” he calls. “It’s safe. We’re done now.”

There is no response. I sit up, wincing when my abs protest. They’re usually pretty prompt.

Cardan’s frown deepens. He knocks harder. “Hey!”

“Do you hear anything?”

“No.” He slams the flat of his hand against the door. “But they can’t have just—”

I feel the panic rising in him as it rises in me. Would they leave us shut up in here? Cardan and I had both started to like our captors, especially as they helped us through the ordeal that was my heat; it was easy to forget that they were career criminals, not paid to be kind. If they or their employer had no more use for us, would they leave us locked in here to die?

“Try the knob,” I suggest.

Cardan puts his hand on the doorknob, rattles the handle, and looks dumbstruck when the door springs open. “What the…”

I scoot to the end of the mattress closest to the door and peer outside. I see no one. The chairs at the folding table are empty. “They left?” I ask, incredulous. “They just left?”

Cardan rubs the back of his neck. “Were we that loud?” Off my derisive look, he adds, “I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Does this mean we’re free to go?”

“I… don’t know.” Wrapping one of the sheets around myself, I stand too. “We probably shouldn’t waste the opportunity.”

“Right,” he says, still dazed.

“Shower first,” I add.

He swings his head around to look at me. “They could come back. You sure you want to waste time on getting clean?��

“We didn’t stay alive all this time just so Madoc could kill you if he smells you on me.”

Cardan goes pale. “That is a very good point.”

I start gathering up my clothes—sweatshirt, shorts, tank top, discarded bra—while he goes to start the water. My ankle hurts less now, although it still twinges if I put too much pressure on it; three days off of it have helped it heal, apparently. I’ve never been great at giving myself recovery time, but maybe there’s something to be said for taking breaks.

When I limp to the bathroom, Cardan has already stripped down again and is washing off in the shower. He left the door open, so nothing is hidden. I nearly drop the clothes I am carrying, and scold myself. It’s not like I haven’t seen him before. It’s not like he wasn’t just inside of me.

But seeing him now, in the light, his skin glistening from shower spray, rubbing himself down with soap, is a completely different experience. I shake myself all over, remembering that he can sense me now and determined that he not know the extent of what I feel, because what I feel has so many dimensions—lust, longing, genuine affection—that I am a little scared of it. I drop my blanket and my clothes in a heap against the wall and join him under the water.

He both is and isn’t surprised when I step into the shower. I know he can sense me without looking, just like I’d know what direction to walk to get to him if we were dropped miles apart. It’s that thing we’re not talking about, that neither of us will name. Naming it will make it real. So instead of saying anything, Cardan picks up the bottle of lavender shampoo, squeezes a little into his palms, and begins massaging it into my hair.

I work very hard not to moan, but I do brace my hands against his chest. I allow myself that luxury. A splotch of color catches my attention, and I slide one hand up and gently press my fingers against the bite mark on his neck. “Did I do that?”

Cardan smirks, continuing to massage my scalp. “Yeah.”

“Huh.” I trace it with my fingers. “Are you mad?”

He pauses, and I have to force down a surge of panic. “I wish you’d asked,” he says at last.

My face burns. “I got carried away.”

“If you’d asked, I would have said yes.”

I look up. His mouth is curved with a sly little smile. My heart thuds.

“This is going to surprise you, but I haven’t gotten to make a lot of choices, historically. Not important ones.” He resumes lathering my hair. I have a lot of it. “I would have chosen you. I wish you’d let me.”

“Well, I—” My tongue feels thick and heavy in my mouth. “I’ll remember that for next time.”

He snickers. “Yeah.”

I step back to rinse out my hair. He watches me, not bothering to disguise it when his eyes trace over my body. Nothing’s going to happen. We’re both worn out. But, here and now, I don’t mind being looked at. My body, for all its myriad imperfections, got me through these last harrowing days, from escape attempt to the end of my heat and everything in between. He can like it. Maybe I can like it, too.

I stand on my toes to kiss him, and he wraps his arms around me, kissing me back as the water washes the last few days away, leaving behind the cloaking scent of lavender. When my hair is clean, I pick up the shampoo bottle and squirt some more into my hands. I hold my palms out to Cardan, who bends his head to me. And I help him get clean, too.

---

“You’re walking a little funny there,” Cardan says, later.

I glare at him over my shoulder. He is dressed, clean, his hair still dripping from the shower—and grinning like a cheshire cat. “I still have a bad ankle. So what?”

“No.” He circles his arms around my waist and pulls me into him, so my back comes to rest against his bare chest. I take a deep breath. His skin is still so warm. Nuzzling the side of my head, he says, sounding a little awed, “I did that.”

“And? Do you want a medal? Come on, we have to—” He starts kissing my neck, and I am briefly torn between rolling my eyes and pushing him back into our cell and onto the terrible mattress. In the end, I do neither. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against his shoulder. “Cardan.”

“I know.” He buries his head in the juncture of my shoulder and neck. He seems to like it there. “I know I know I know. Just a minute. Here.”

He takes my hands and pulls me across the basement, sitting in the empty chair that would normally belong to the Roach and positioning me so I stand in front of him. To my surprise, the next thing he does is wrap his arms around my waist again and bury his face in my stomach.

“Let’s not go up,” he says, his words slightly muffled by my tank top. “Let’s live in this basement.”

I rest my hand on the back of his head. “We can’t do that.”

“Maybe we can. The Roach was teaching me some stuff. Maybe we can get by stealing snacks from convenience stores and just be bandits forever. Basement bandits.”

I stroke my thumb through the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “I have college.”

“You can commute.”

“Oh, sure.” I place both my hands on his shoulders and give him a little push. “C’mon.”

He doesn’t budge. “It sucks out there, you know,” he says. “It really sucks. And it doesn’t make sense, I know it makes no sense, but I think this is the best thing that could have happened to me.”

“Aside from all of the parts of it that were terrible,” I point out.

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly. “Aside from that.”

“That was most of it, you know. I feel like the last few hours are really coloring your perception…” I trail off. “You don’t want to go home,” I realize aloud. “That’s what this is.”

Cardan’s shoulders tense. “Forget it.”

“Hey—”

He releases me and stands up. “You’re right. We should go.”

“Cardan.”

It seems like he is already halfway up the basement steps. Stupid long legs. I jog after him as best I can, catching up to him just after he pushes the door open. And then he is just standing there, taking in the ruined—or unfinished—house. I forgot that he hadn’t seen it before. With the sunlight streaming through the rafters, it is a pretty striking sight.

I find myself blinking. Has the sunlight always been this bright? I shield my eyes with my hand.

“What is this?” Cardan asks quietly.

“The Ghost said it was being built for somebody’s mistress,” I reply, even though that doesn’t really answer his question. “He said it was never finished.”

His frown is back. “But who—”

Then he stops, straightening, and I hear what he hears: the screeching sirens, then the unmistakable sound of roaring engines and car tires flattening the grass outside. We glance at each other and, unified in purpose, race to the front of the house.

We burst out the door to find four police cars, an ambulance, and two unmarked black cars swarming the house, tires screeching as they brake. The black cars race up the side of the field and come to a halt. The driver of the first one barely waits for the car to truly stop before he emerges, moving with surprising agility. His shoulders are broad, and even the adrenaline of the situation isn’t enough to suppress his slight limp.

Cardan is clutching my hand, or I am clutching his. “It’s Madoc,” I whisper. “Madoc is here.”

But Cardan is staring too, because the person who emerges from the second car is another familiar figure. This one has his cheekbones, his dark curly hair. “My brother,” he says, sounding surprised.

I don’t know if it’s a good or bad thing—that Balekin is here, that Balekin bothered—but I give his hand a squeeze and let it go, knowing one of us needs to do something, make this almost normal. I start across the field, intercepting Madoc a few yards from the house. His face is a storm of emotions and they are all unreadable to me.

“I,” I begin, but then he pulls me, one-armed, against his shoulder, and into a hug.

Madoc is, as a rule, not very affectionate. He loves us, although there has always been something terrifying about being loved by him, but he hasn’t hugged us since we were children. But he is hugging me, right now. His hand presses against the back of my head, like he is afraid that I will be taken again if he lets me go.

“Dad,” I whisper, and I let myself lean into him. My shoulders shake, and I tell myself I will not cry, I won’t. I am done with crying.

“Jude,” Madoc says. “I thought I’d lost you.”

My heart strains at its seams. Maybe I will cry.

But then I feel a prickle of awareness and pick my head up to look over at Cardan. The police are busy securing the perimeter, so Balekin has gotten to him first, and is talking to him in a low voice. He has his hand on Cardan’s shoulder. It might be friendly, brotherly. But tension in his Cardan’s posture makes me think it is not.

“Wait, just a second.” I make myself pull back from Madoc, then walk over to where Cardan is standing.

Balekin takes a step back. There is a smile on his face, which could be kindly, but has too sharp an edge for that. “Jude Duarte,” he says, by way of greeting. “I understand I have you to thank for my brother’s safety?”

I bristle, because I know he must see this as a mark of Cardan’s lack of worth. Protected by an omega. It takes a lot of self-restraint not to grab Cardan’s hand again. “We looked out for each other. He saved my a—me, too.”

“Hmm.” Balekin’s eyes narrow.

“Can someone tell us what’s really going on?” Cardan asks. I feel his discomfort like it’s mine. “What the hell happened? How did you find us? How are you here?”

“Your phones and wallets were turned in at the police precinct,” says Madoc, coming up to join us. “Along with GPS coordinates leading to this address.”

Cardan and I look at each other. “Well, I won’t have to get my driver’s license replaced,” he jokes. “Good. Hate the DMV.”

“But who did this?” I ask. “Who was behind it?” I look at Balekin before I can really stop myself.

He raises an eyebrow, but he says, “Our brother, Dain.”

“He confessed?” Cardan asks, disbelieving.

“In a way.”

“He’s no longer a concern,” Madoc says with a finality that indicates no further questioning will be entertained.

Cardan and I look at each other. “But—” Cardan begins, just as I say, “Why?”

“The details don’t matter,” Balekin says. “Cardan—”

“We should let the paramedics examine them,” Madoc interjects. “Jude’s wounded.”

“It’s really a scratch,” I protest.

“Great!” exclaims Cardan, walking past me and toward the ambulance. Balekin looks frustrated, but lets him go and stalks back to his own car, pulling his cell phone out of his pocket. I move to follow Cardan until Madoc lays a hand on my shoulder.

“Jude,” he says, in a low voice. “That boy.”

I notice the furrow of his brow, the slight flare of his nostrils, and wish the earth would swallow me up. “It’s all right,” I say, avoiding his searching gaze. “It isn’t his fault. He didn’t do anything I didn’t ask for. We were trapped together for a long time.”

“I didn’t think you were friends,” he says. There is a slowness to his words that suggests he’s choosing them carefully. Or maybe he’s judging me.

“I’m not sure what we are.”

“It’s very clear what you are.”

“Dad,” I whisper, scandalized.

His face softens. “We’ll figure it out. If you say he helped you, then I will take you at your word.” He releases me. “Go get looked at.”

To escape the conversation, I am more than happy to oblige.

Next

[tundrainafrica]

Masterlist

This will serve as a personal tracker of all of the fics I have ever written, all of the books and series I have consumed etc. I wrote this out to help me organize my thoughts since I have time now to reflect on this closet hobby of mine. I also put it up just in case anyone has ever read my stuff and is curious about how these works are doing in my head space.

Some were written back when I was way younger so apologies for the quality.

ALEX RIDER

Come Home (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Memories don't keep people grounded in their present. They're the reason people think of what ifs and would haves, regrets and daydreams. Alex sees three dimensions of his reality and makes a decision. Set after Never Say Die.

Status: Done (I guess?), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet

Killing (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Spoilers for Never Say Die. Killing is like learning to ride a bike as Alex is going to figure out very soon. For Spyfest 2017.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet

Transparency (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Although the bank robbery made national news, the young boy who saved the lives of all the people in the bank didn't. First hand witness accounts said the boy was a hero, the media said there was no young hero in the bank and one journalist tries to get to the bottom of it all.

Status:WIP (could probably still finish it, it’s almost done anyway), not posted on tumblr or AO3 yet)

Type II Error (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Written for Spyfest Week 3. Set before Ark Angel. The updates on payroll accounts and budgets lined up too well with mysterious deaths and undisclosed missions. An auditor working for MI6 decides for herself whether or not the orders of her bosses Blunt and Jones were worth prying into.

Status: Done (Oneshot), will post on tumblr yet

Unforeseen Circumstances (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

It's April, the time of year when most students start salvaging their grades. Missions had taken their toll on Alex's grades and he needs to start salvaging soon or risk repeating the year. Nature wasn't on his side though and it turned out that his devil's luck had just run out.

Status: WIP (8/15), On hold, not posted on tumblr yet

ATTACK ON TITAN

Levi and Hange’s Relationship in Erwin’s POV (Status: Completed, not posted yet)

A Tale of Two Slaves (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)  

"Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn't exist. Everything is a choice. At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him."

Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn't.

Status: WIP (6/?)

A Free Spot (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)  

Slight AU! Levi sacrifices himself in Chapter 132 instead of Hange and Hange deals with the consequences years later. Written for Levihan Angstober Week 4. Prompt: Free Spot 

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet

Division of Labor (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)  

"The past years, we have noticed a lot of our fresh high school graduates knew nothing about responsibilities the that awaited them outside high school and even college. Many students do not master budgeting, taxes, household planning, loans and we hope to raise a generation who can navigate the adult world without the consequences of bad decisions they are bound to make going in blindly..."

Paradis High school starts a program incorporating adulting into their curriculum and Hange and Levi are paired together.

Status: WIP (1/?)

En Prise (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Hange already had the innate analysis skills and the quick wittedness to excel in the classroom. Chess should have come easy for her. As she processed her fifth loss to the man in front of her, she started to understand that there was more to the game than meets the eye.

College AU! Levi is a little too good at chess and Hange gets roped into studying the game further.

Status: WIP (1/18), will try to create a backlog before I post more.

Heroes or Victims (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Post Chapter 115, Hange reflects on emotions, relationships, war philosophies, and a future while taking care of a severely injured Levi.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet

Household Planning (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

"It was Levi's household. The plates were arranged and sorted by color and use, the way Levi liked it. The cabinets and the storage were arranged in a way which would be efficient for cooking, or at least the way Levi would have wanted to cook."

Levi gets sick and Hange is left to navigate household chores.

Status: Done (2/2)

Passion Project (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)    

Levi tries to ignore Hange but it never seems to last. A ficlet detailing the development of Levi and Hange's relationship before canon.

Status: WIP (1/3) Timeline written, Chapter 2 rough draft complete, not posted on FFN yet

Rough Day (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

It should have been apparent to Hange by the weight gain and the sudden lack of red days. Somehow, Levi noticed it first.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet, will probably write more fluff similar to this

Sugar Rush

(AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Marley brings the celebration of Halloween to Paradis. Hange and Levi go trick or treating with their child for the first time and start to realize how much the world has changed since the war.

A Halloween piece for the Levihan spookfest one year late.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not posted on FFN yet, will probably write more fluff similar to this

Would You Cry? (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Hange asks an innocent question and Levi finds himself reflecting on his emotions and his relationship with Hange. Written for LeviHan Week, Angstober 2020. Prompt: Silence/Screams

Status: Done (Oneshot)

Vulnerabilities (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Slight AU! Although Levi is humanity's strongest soldier in the battlefield, his rough childhood had left him weaker and more vulnerable to illness. Levi had always taken measures to prevent sickness nit anyone who has ever been close to him caught wind on it anyway. A series of oneshots throughout the story focusing on Levi's chronic weakness and others taking care of him.

Status: Sporadic updates depending on mood, not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Big Hero Six

Deal with the Devil  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

When mourning becomes too much for him, Hiro finds himself resorting to prayers and deals to bring back the brother he lost. The devil may have had pity on him but he never promised to let Hiro go unscathed.

Status: WIP, on hold, probably could get back to it just need to rewatch the movie, not yet completely posted on AO3 and tumblr

Fatal Flaw  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Grieving may be a long and painful process but in time most people do recover. For Hiro Hamada though something probably went wrong along the way because from what Aunt Cass could see, he was moving on yet at the same time, he wasn't.

Status: WIP, abandoned, completely forgot what I was planning, not yet posted on tumblr 

Coco

Dares, Pranks and Curses (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Written for the Coco Valentines Fanwork Exchange. The night of Dia de Los Muertos, Miguel ends up staying out late to play a little game with his friends in the cemetery. Hector, Imelda and Miguel reunite through a game of Ouija.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Somewhere between Life and Death (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Dia de los Muertos isn't the only day the dead can visit the living. Miguel is reunited with Hector, Imelda and his other relatives from the other side but in one of the worst ways possible and he finds himself caught in a struggle between life and death.

Status: WIP 9/20, on hold, timeline is complete just need to get it written, need to fix tumblr tags

Crossovers

Quest for Origin: Ranger’s Apprentice x Percy Jackson (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

A young boy gets washed up on the shore of Camp Half Blood with no memories whatsoever of his life before. How did he end up there? Is it all just a coincidence? Or is it a message from the Gods? What's with his uncanny skill with the bow?

Status: On Hold (25/35), timeline complete, will probably continue with PJO TV show comes out, not yet posted on ff and tumblr

Kingdom Hearts

Coded Connection  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Post KH3. If Kairi keeps Sora's memory alive, he'll eventually call out to her right? Then it will be her turn to find him, hold him and never let go.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr and ff

Kuroko no Basuke

Yellow, Red, Green, Blue and Purple  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Collab with friend back in high school. All Kise wanted to do was complete one more level of Flow Free before practice starts. When you have teammates as lazy, eccentric, hyperactive, sociopathic or invisible as the Generation of Miracles though, sometimes the things that sound the simplest, can be the hardest to do. Crackfic

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr

Ranger’s Apprentice

Being a Ranger’s Wife  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

As Will leaves on a suicide mission, Alyss ponders on her choice to have married him.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr or AO3

Danger Zone (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Rangers are human. Humans make mistakes. The difference though between an ordinary human and a ranger is the consequences they'll eventually face for past mistakes. Will should have known that for rangers, this included being on the run from an angry group of pirates with his silver oakleaf on the line.

Status: Probably Abandoned, first fanfic I have ever written lmao, completely forgot where I was going with this, not yet posted on tumblr or ffn.

Farmer’s Apprentice  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Will lied to Mr. Chubb about stealing from the kitchen years ago. How did that small decision change the course of the young boy's life? AU Crack fic.

Status: Done (Oneshot), not yet posted on tumblr or AO3

Masters, Apprentices and Sons (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Gilan accepts Morgarath's challenge in the Plains of Uthal and Halt is left to care for his apprentice in the aftermath of the battle. Halt wonders why it took him this long to realize that there was no fine line between an apprentice and a son.

Status: WIP. I have written out all the way until chapter 5 but I completely lost the files. I don’t know if my current frustration will allow me to continue this.

The Fall of a Hero  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Will had fallen from his place as one of the top rangers in the corps and one of the top figures in Araluen and it's up to his friends to help pull him back up. Recovery Fic.

Status: WIP, timeline not written, could probably still continue this, just need to catch up to the series

Prince of Tennis

A Break from Ingenuity  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

Timing is everything. Fuji gets his timing wrong, makes one misstep then finds himself facing a career ending injury. Maybe, that's when everyone will realize that he's human too.

Status: WIP. Will probs continue if new POT content comes out.

Yuri on Ice

Surprises  (AO3/Tumblr/FFN)

With all the stress piling up for the Japanese National Championship and more importantly, the World Championship, one can expect an athlete to get injured. To have the coach be the one struck by a career ending injury during practice is another story. That's exactly how Victor surprised the crowd though, maybe for the last time.

Status: WIP (3/?), not yet posted on tumblr

[dist-the-rose]

Section 4: Day and Night Work. The Relay System Constant capital, the means of production, considered from the standpoint of the creation of surplus value, only exist to absorb labour, and with every drop of labour a proportional quantity of surplus labour. While they fail to do this, their mere existence causes a relative loss to the capitalist, for they represent during the time they lie fallow, a useless advance of capital. And this loss becomes positive and absolute as soon as the intermission of their employment necessitates additional outlay at the recommencement of work. The prolongation of the working day beyond the limits of the natural day, into the night, only acts as a palliative. It quenches only in a slight degree the vampire thirst for the living blood of labour. To appropriate labour during all the 24 hours of the day is, therefore, the inherent tendency of capitalist production. But as it is physically impossible to exploit the same individual labour-power constantly during the night as well as the day, to overcome this physical hindrance, an alternation becomes necessary between the workpeople whose powers are exhausted by day, and those who are used up by night. This alternation may be effected in various ways; e.g., it may be so arranged that part of the workers are one week employed on day-work, the next week on night-work. It is well known that this relay system, this alternation of two sets of workers, held full sway in the full-blooded youth-time of the English cotton manufacture, and that at the present time it still flourishes, among others, in the cotton spinning of the Moscow district. This 24 hours’ process of production exists to-day as a system in many of the branches of industry of Great Britain that are still “free,” in the blastfurnaces, forges, plate-rolling mills, and other metallurgical establishments in England, Wales, and Scotland. The working-time here includes, besides the 24 hours of the 6 working days, a great part also of the 24 hours of Sunday. The workers consist of men and women, adults and children of both sexes. The ages of the children and young persons run through all intermediate grades, from 8 (in some cases from 6) to 18. 60 In some branches of industry, the girls and women work through the night together with the males. 61 Placing on one side the generally injurious influence of night-labour,62 the duration of the process of production, unbroken during the 24 hours, offers very welcome opportunities of exceeding the 132 Chapter X limits of the normal working day, e.g., in the branches of industry already mentioned, which are of an exceedingly fatiguing nature; the official working day means for each worker usually 12 hours by night or day. But the over-work beyond this amount is in many cases, to use the words of the English official report, “truly fearful.” 63 “It is impossible,” the report continues, “for any mind to realise the amount of work described in the following passages as being performed by boys of from 9 to 12 years of age ... without coming irresistibly to the conclusion that such abuses of the power of parents and of employers can no longer be allowed to exist.” 64 "The practice of boys working at all by day and night turns either in the usual course of things, or at pressing times, seems inevitably to open the door to their not unfrequently working unduly long hours. These hours are, indeed, in some cases, not only cruelly but even incredibly long for children. Amongst a number of boys it will, of course, not unfrequently happen that one or more are from some cause absent. When this happens, their place is made up by one or more boys, who work in the other turn. That this is a well understood system is plain ... from the answer of the manager of some large rolling-mills, who, when I asked him how the place of the boys absent from their turn was made up, ‘I daresay, sir, you know that as well as I do,’ and admitted the fact.” 65 “At a rolling-mill where the proper hours were from 6 a.m. to 5½ p.m., a boy worked about four nights every week till 8½ p.m. at least ... and this for six months. Another, at 9 years old, sometimes made three 12-hour shifts running, and, when 10, has made two days and two nights running.” A third, “now 10 ... worked from 6 a.m. till 12 p.m. three nights, and till 9 p.m. the other nights.” “Another, now 13, ... worked from 6 p.m. till 12 noon next day, for a week together, and sometimes for three shifts together, e.g., from Monday morning till Tuesday night.” “Another, now 12, has worked in an iron foundry at Stavely from 6 a.m. till 12 p.m. for a fortnight on end; could not do it any more.” “George Allinsworth, age 9, came here as cellar-boy last Friday; next morning we had to begin at 3, so I stopped here all night. Live five miles off. Slept on the floor of the furnace, over head, with an apron under me, and a bit of a jacket over me. The two other days I have been here at 6 a.m. Aye! it is hot in here. Before I came here I was nearly a year at the same work at some works in the country. Began there, too, at 3 on Saturday morning – always did, but was very gain [near] home, and could sleep at home. Other days I began at 6 in the morning, and gi’en over at 6 or 7 in the evening,” &c. 66 Let us now hear how capital itself regards this 24 hours’ system. The extreme forms of the system, its abuse in the “cruel and incredible” extension of the working day are naturally passed over in silence. Capital only speaks of the system in its “normal” form. Messrs. Naylor & Vickers, steel manufacturers, who employ between 600 and 700 persons, among whom only 10 per cent are under 18, and of those, only 20 boys under 18 work in night sets, thus express themselves: “The boys do not suffer from the heat. The temperature is probably from 86° to 90°.... At the forges and in the rolling mills the hands work night and day, in relays, but all the other parts of the work are day-work, i.e., from 6 a.m. to 6 p.m. In the forge the hours are from 12 to 12. Some of the hands always work in the night, without any alternation of day and night work.... We do not find any difference in the health of those who work regularly by night and those who work by day, and probably people can sleep better if they have the same period of rest than if it is changed.... About 20 of the boys under the age of 18 work in the night 133 Chapter X sets.... We could not well do without lads under 18 working by night. The objection would be the increase in the cost of production.... Skilled hands and the heads in every department are difficult to get, but of lads we could get any number.... But from the small proportion of boys that we employ, the subject (i.e., of restrictions on night-work) is of little importance or interest to us.” 67 Mr. J. Ellis, one of the firm of Messrs. John Brown & Co., steel and iron works, employing about 3,000 men and boys, part of whose operations, namely, iron and heavier steel work, goes on night and day by relays, states “that in the heavier steel work one or two boys are employed to a score or two men.” Their concern employs upwards of 500 boys under 18, of whom about 1/3 or 170 are under the age of 13. With reference to the proposed alteration of the law, Mr. Ellis says: “I do not think it would be very objectionable to require that no person under the age of 18 should work more than 12 hours in the 24. But we do not think that any line could be drawn over the age of 12, at which boys could be dispensed with for night-work. But we would sooner be prevented from employing boys under the age of 13, or even so high as 14, at all, than not be allowed to employ boys that we do have at night. Those boys who work in the day sets must take their turn in the night sets also. because the men could not work in the night sets only; it would ruin their health.... We think, however, that night-work in alternate weeks is no harm.” (Messrs. Naylor & Vickers, on the other hand, in conformity with the interest of their business, considered that periodically changed night-labour might possibly do more harm than continual night-labour.) “We find the men who do it, as well as the others who do other work only by day.... Our objections to not allowing boys under 18 to work at night, would be on account of the increase of expense, but this is the only reason.” (What cynical naïveté!) “We think that the increase would be more than the trade, with due regard to its being successfully carried out, could fairly bear. (What mealy-mouthed phraseology!) Labour is scarce here, and might fall short if there were such a regulation.” (i.e., Ellis Brown & Co. might fall into the fatal perplexity of being obliged to pay labour-power its full value.) 68 The “Cyclops Steel and Iron Works,” of Messrs. Cammell & Co., are concocted on the same large scale as those of the above-mentioned John Brown & Co. The managing director had handed in his evidence to the Government Commissioner, Mr. White, in writing. Later he found it convenient to suppress the MS. when it had been returned to him for revision. Mr. White, however, has a good memory. He remembered quite clearly that for the Messrs. Cyclops the forbidding of the night-labour of children and young persons “would be impossible, it would be tantamount to stopping their works,” and yet their business employs little more than 6% of boys under 18, and less than 1% under 13. 69 On the same subject Mr. E. F. Sanderson, of the firm of Sanderson, Bros., & Co., steel rollingmills and forges, Attercliffe, says: “Great difficulty would be caused by preventing boys under 18 from working at night. The chief would be the increase of cost from employing men instead of boys. I cannot say what this would be, but probably it would not be enough to enable the manufacturers to raise the price of steel, and consequently it would fall on them, as of course the men (what queer-headed folk!) would refuse to pay it.” Mr. Sanderson does not know how much he pays the children, but “perhaps the younger boys get from 4s. to 5s. a week.... The boys’ work is of a kind for which the strength of the boys is generally (‘generally,’ of course not 134 Chapter X always) quite sufficient, and consequently there would be no gain in the greater strength of the men to counterbalance the loss, or it would be only in the few cases in which the metal is heavy. The men would not like so well not to have boys under them, as men would be less obedient. Besides, boys must begin young to learn the trade. Leaving day-work alone open to boys would not answer this purpose.” And why not? Why could not boys learn their handicraft in the day-time? Your reason? “Owing to the men working days and nights in alternate weeks, the men would be separated half the time from their boys, and would lose half the profit which they make from them. The training which they give to an apprentice is considered as part of the return for the boys’ labour, and thus enables the man to get it at a cheaper rate. Each man would want half of this profit.” In other words, Messrs. Sanderson would have to pay part of the wages of the adult men out of their own pockets instead of by the night-work of the boys. Messrs. Sanderson’s profit would thus fall to some extent, and this is the good Sandersonian reason why boys cannot learn their handicraft in the day.70 In addition to this, it would throw night-labour on those who worked instead of the boys, which they would not be able to stand. The difficulties in fact would be so great that they would very likely lead to the giving up of night-work altogether, and “as far as the work itself is concerned,” says E. F. Sanderson, “this would suit as well, but – “But Messrs. Sanderson have something else to make besides steel. Steel-making is simply a pretext for surplus value making. The smelting furnaces, rolling-mills, &c., the buildings, machinery, iron, coal, &c., have something more to do than transform themselves into steel. They are there to absorb surplus labour, and naturally absorb more in 24 hours than in 12. In fact they give, by grace of God and law, the Sandersons a cheque on the working-time of a certain number of hands for all the 24 hours of the day, and they lose their character as capital, are therefore a pure loss for the Sandersons, as soon as their function of absorbing labour is interrupted. “But then there would be the loss from so much expensive machinery, lying idle half the time, and to get through the amount of work which we are able to do on the present system, we should have to double our premises and plant, which would double the outlay.” But why should these Sandersons pretend to a privilege not enjoyed by the other capitalists who only work during the day, and whose buildings, machinery, raw material, therefore lie “idle” during the night? E. F. Sanderson answers in the name of all the Sandersons: “It is true that there is this loss from machinery lying idle in those manufactories in which work only goes on by day. But the use of furnaces would involve a further loss in our case. If they were kept up there would be a waste of fuel (instead of, as now, a waste of the living substance of the workers), and if they were not, there would be loss of time in laying the fires and getting the heat up (whilst the loss of sleeping time, even to children of 8 is a gain of working-time for the Sanderson tribe), and the furnaces themselves would suffer from the changes of temperature.” (Whilst those same furnaces suffer nothing from the day and night change of labour.) 71

[pamphletstoinspire]

THE BOOK OF ECCLESIASTES- From The Douay-Rheims Bible - Latin Vulgate

Chapter 11

INTRODUCTION

This Book is called Ecclesiastes, or the preacher, (in Hebrew, Coheleth) because in it Solomon, as an excellent preacher, setteth forth the vanity of the things of this world, to withdraw the hearts and affections of men from such empty toys. Ch. --- Coheleth is a feminine noun, to indicate the elegance of the discourse. It is very difficult to discriminate the objections of free-thinkers from the real sentiments of the author. It is most generally supposed that Solomon wrote this after his repentance; but this is very uncertain. S. Jerom (in C. xii. 12.) informs us that the collectors of the sacred books had some scruple about admitting this; and Luther speaks of it with great disrespect: (Coll. conviv.) but the Church has always maintained its authority. See Conc. v. Act. 4. Philast. 132. C. --- It refutes the false notions of worldlings, concerning felicity; and shews that it consists in the service of God and fruition. W.

The additional Notes in this Edition of the New Testament will be marked with the letter A. Such as are taken from various Interpreters and Commentators, will be marked as in the Old Testament. B. Bristow, C. Calmet, Ch. Challoner, D. Du Hamel, E. Estius, J. Jansenius, M. Menochius, Po. Polus, P. Pastorini, T. Tirinus, V. Bible de Vence, W. Worthington, Wi. Witham. — The names of other authors, who may be occasionally consulted, will be given at full length.

Verses are in English and Latin. HAYDOCK CATHOLIC BIBLE COMMENTARY

This Catholic commentary on the Old Testament, following the Douay-Rheims Bible text, was originally compiled by Catholic priest and biblical scholar Rev. George Leo Haydock (1774-1849). This transcription is based on Haydock's notes as they appear in the 1859 edition of Haydock's Catholic Family Bible and Commentary printed by Edward Dunigan and Brother, New York, New York.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES

Changes made to the original text for this transcription include the following:

Greek letters. The original text sometimes includes Greek expressions spelled out in Greek letters. In this transcription, those expressions have been transliterated from Greek letters to English letters, put in italics, and underlined. The following substitution scheme has been used: A for Alpha; B for Beta; G for Gamma; D for Delta; E for Epsilon; Z for Zeta; E for Eta; Th for Theta; I for Iota; K for Kappa; L for Lamda; M for Mu; N for Nu; X for Xi; O for Omicron; P for Pi; R for Rho; S for Sigma; T for Tau; U for Upsilon; Ph for Phi; Ch for Chi; Ps for Psi; O for Omega. For example, where the name, Jesus, is spelled out in the original text in Greek letters, Iota-eta-sigma-omicron-upsilon-sigma, it is transliterated in this transcription as, Iesous. Greek diacritical marks have not been represented in this transcription.

Footnotes. The original text indicates footnotes with special characters, including the astrisk (*) and printers' marks, such as the dagger mark, the double dagger mark, the section mark, the parallels mark, and the paragraph mark. In this transcription all these special characters have been replaced by numbers in square brackets, such as [1], [2], [3], etc.

Accent marks. The original text contains some English letters represented with accent marks. In this transcription, those letters have been rendered in this transcription without their accent marks.

Other special characters.

Solid horizontal lines of various lengths that appear in the original text have been represented as a series of consecutive hyphens of approximately the same length, such as ---.

Ligatures, single characters containing two letters united, in the original text in some Latin expressions have been represented in this transcription as separate letters. The ligature formed by uniting A and E is represented as Ae, that of a and e as ae, that of O and E as Oe, and that of o and e as oe.

Monetary sums in the original text represented with a preceding British pound sterling symbol (a stylized L, transected by a short horizontal line) are represented in this transcription with a following pound symbol, l.

The half symbol (1/2) and three-quarters symbol (3/4) in the original text have been represented in this transcription with their decimal equivalent, (.5) and (.75) respectively.

Unreadable text. Places where the transcriber's copy of the original text is unreadable have been indicated in this transcription by an empty set of square brackets, [].

Chapter 11

Exhortation to works of mercy, while we have time, to diligence in good, and to the remembrance of death and judgment.

[1] Cast thy bread upon the running waters: for after a long time thou shalt find it again.

Mitte panem tuum super transeuntes aquas, quia post tempora multa invenies illum.

[2] Give a portion to seven, and also to eight: for thou knowest not what evil shall be upon the earth.

Da partem septem necnon et octo, quia ignoras quid futurum sit mali super terram.

[3] If the clouds be full, they will pour out rain upon the earth. If the tree fall to the south, or to the north, in what place soever it shall fall, there shall it be.

Si repletae fuerint nubes, imbrem super terram effundent. Si ceciderit lignum ad austrum aut ad aquilonem, in quocumque loco ceciderit, ibi erit.

[4] He that observeth the wind, shall not sow: and he that considereth the clouds, shall never reap.

Qui observat ventum non seminat; et qui considerat nubes numquam metet.

[5] As thou knowest not what is the way of the spirit, nor how the bones are joined together in the womb of her that is with child: so thou knowest not the works of God, who is the maker of all.

Quomodo ignoras quae sit via spiritus, et qua ratione compingantur ossa in ventre praegnantis, sic nescis opera Dei, qui fabricator est omnium.

[6] In the morning sow thy seed, and In the evening let not thy hand cease: for thou knowest not which may rather spring up, this or that: and if both together, it shall be the better.

Mane semina semen tuum, et vespere ne cesset manus tua : quia nescis quid magis oriatur, hoc aut illud; et si utrumque simul, melius erit.

[7] The light is sweet, and it is delightful for the eyes to see the sun.

Dulce lumen, et delectabile est oculis videre solem.

[8] If a man live many years, and have rejoiced in them all, he must remember the darksome time, and the many days: which when they shall come, the things past shall be accused of vanity.

Si annis multis vixerit homo, et in his omnibus laetatus fuerit, meminisse debet tenebrosi temporis, et dierum multorum, qui cum venerint, vanitatis arguentur praeterita.

[9] Rejoice therefore, O young man, in thy youth, and let thy heart be in that which is good in the days of thy youth, and walk in the ways of thy heart, and in the sight of thy eyes: and know that for all these God will bring thee into judgment.

Laetare ergo, juvenis, in adolescentia tua, et in bono sit cor tuum in diebus juventutis tuae : et ambula in viis cordis tui, et in intuitu oculorum tuorum, et scito quod pro omnibus his adducet te Deus in judicium.

[10] Remove anger from thy heart, and put away evil from thy flesh. For youth and pleasure are vain.

Aufer iram a corde tuo, et amove malitiam a carne tua : adolescentia enim et voluptas vana sunt.

Commentary:

Ver. 1. Waters. Sow thy seed where it may produce a good crop. C. --- Be charitable to all. Lu. vi. 30. Indiscrete faciendum bene. S. Jer. --- Assist those in distress, (C.) even though they may be ungrateful, or unable to make a return. Lu. xiv. 12. T. --- In this third part we are exhorted to serve God with perseverance. Of all virtues, the works of mercy avail most. Matt. xxv. W.

Ver. 2. Eight. To as many as thou art able, (C.) especially to those who are of the household of faith, (Gal. vi. 10. H.) whether under the old or the new Testament, signified by the numbers, seven and eight. W. S. Jer. --- Mandatum accipis octo illis partem dare, fortasse benedictionibus, (S. Amb. in Lu. vi. n. 49.) which intimates, that we must apply ourselves to the pursuit of al virtues, as the number eight denotes perfection. C.

Ver. 3. If the tree fall, &c. The state of the soul is unchangeable, when once she comes to heaven or hell: and the soul that departs this life in the state of grace, shall never fall from grace; as on the other side, a soul that dies out of the state of grace, shall never come to it. But this does not exclude a place of temporal punishment for such souls as die in the state of grace: yet not so as to be entirely pure; and therefore they shall be saved, indeed, yet so as by fire. 1 Cor. iii. 13. 14. 15. Ch. --- After death, none can merit. W. --- "He who shall not have cultivated his field, (the soul) shall after this life experience the fire of purgation, or eternal punishment." S. Aug. de Gen. con. Man. iii. 20. H. --- The souls in purgatory have their names inscribed in heaven, like the ancient saints, who were detained in the bosom of Abraham. C. --- They fall, therefore, to the south. Let people dispense their alms to all, as the clouds rain upon the just and unjust, (H.) upon the cultivated and the barren land, and let them do it before death. They know not how soon it may lay them low. C. --- By looking at the branches of a tree, we may conclude which way it will fall; so we may form a judgment of our future state, by reflecting on our present dispositions. "Our branches are our desires, by which we stretch ourselves to the south, if they be spiritual," &c. S. Bern. ser. xlix. The liberal are not concerned where they bestow charity. People will gather up the fruit both on the north and south, and they who have given alms will find them (Abenezra; Mercer.) laid up in the heavenly tabernacles. H. --- This agrees with the sequel. C.

Ver. 4. Reap. Those who are too circumspect in their alms-deeds, will often pass over such as stand in need, (S. Jer.) and people who reflect on the difficulties of a virtuous life, will never begin. S. Greg. iii. Past. xvi. and Mor. xxvii. 5.

Ver. 5. Spirit. In a man, or of the wind. Why then wouldst thou judge of the merit of thy petitioner? or pretend to determine why God has made thee rich and him poor?

Ver. 6. Better. Be kind to all during life. Gal. vi. 10. C. --- Do good, both in youth and in old age, (W.) lest, if thou shouldst grow remiss, all would be lost. S. Jer.

Ver. 8. And the. Heb. "for they are many. What comes to pass is vanity." Mont. - Nothing can more effectually repress the love of this world. Eccli. vii. 40. After Solomon has presented the objections of the wicked, he comes to this conclusion.

Ver. 9. Eyes. He speaks ironically, (C.) or exhorts to spiritual joy and moderation. S. Greg. Mor. xxiv.

Ver. 10. Anger. All turbulent passions, and evil or carnal pleasures. S. Jer.

[destiniesfic]

132 Hours, Chapter 11

“Don’t speak for me, Duarte,” Cardan says.

“Don’t boss me around.”

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Read chapter 11 on AO3 or read below:

“But, just, if I had the choice,” I say, “I would rather be apart from society.”

We’ve gone around and around a few different points by now. The latest one is the Ghost reminding me that, since betas are one in a thousand, there are only three hundred thousand in the United States, which is less than the population of Wyoming, and I don’t know anyone from Wyoming. They can and do seek each other out, but in a lot of ways, chemical and social, they’re separated from everyone else.

“Would you?” asks the Ghost.

“Well…” I trail off, thinking of the Bomb and the Roach and how they, very possibly, endured de-designation one way or another. I don’t think that’s something I want for myself, not seriously. Sure, I could do without all the complications of heat, but would I like to go through life with dulled senses, knowing most of the population was experiencing something I never would?

The problem isn’t really that I hate being an omega, it’s that I spent my whole life watching alphas, surviving alphas. Wishing I had what they had.

I look at Cardan, who’s been preoccupied with picking at dirt under his fingernails this entire time. He wears a mask of boredom. I know he’s listening, though. He’s good at playing dumb.

“I want to be like them,” I hear myself say. “No, I want to be better than them. That’s all. That’s what it is. And how am I supposed to be better when I’m—” I gesture at myself. I know I look better now than I did before, but I am far from my peak.

Regarding me steadily, the Ghost says, “There’s power in what you are right now, you know. There’s power in driving people crazy for you. A well-placed omega can ruin a political negotiation, a business merger, a marriage. Start wars.”

“Helen of Troy,” I interject. We all know how that went. “That’s soft power. But I don’t want—want…”

I shiver in my chair and hug my arms to my chest. Cardan’s voice is dark and low when he says, “I don’t think she’s up for this discussion.”

The Ghost gives him an odd look, and I say, “No, I’m fine. It’s fine.” I quash down panic; the meds shouldn’t be wearing off this soon, but there’s nothing I can do about it. “I don’t want soft power. I want to be taken seriously.”

“Well, you got us to take you pretty seriously,” the Ghost replies. “Cardan takes you seriously.”

I snort. “No, he doesn’t.”

“Don’t speak for me, Duarte,” Cardan says.

“Don’t boss me around.”

“I think that when you get to college, or at least out into the real world, you’ll find it’s very different,” the Ghost continues.

“I live in the real world,” I retort.

“No, you live in a bubble. A rich person bubble. When there aren’t as many expectations—when there are just normal people—alphas and omegas don’t have as much trouble with each other.”

I press my lips together so I can’t remind him that my mom married an alpha and it didn’t exactly end well. “But systems of oppression still exist. How many omega presidents have we had?”

The Ghost holds up a hand. “We’ve been over this. I’m not saying they don’t.” He pauses. “It wasn’t a kind thing Madoc did, sending you to Insmire.”

I blink at him. “How did you know—”

“Well, we did have to do our research on you.” He presses his lips together. “Cardan said you went to school together.”

“Oh, right.” I feel foolish, and also defensive. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Cardan pick up his head. “Well, Madoc isn’t kind. I mean, he can be, but—he isn’t.”

“No,” the Ghost agrees. “If he was kind, he would have sent you to the best multi-designation or omega prep school there was. But he didn’t let you have it easy. From what I know of him, he wanted to teach you to fight, on all fronts. And from where I’m sitting, it worked. I bet your sister isn’t a pushover either. Your twin?”

I almost laugh, thinking about Taryn fistfighting anyone. But I guess we did both learn to lie pretty well. I shrug my shoulders.

“You’ve had the worst of it in high school with entitled rich kids. The real world is more balanced, and you’re more than ready for it.” He pauses. “And there is one more thing, but I don’t think you’ll appreciate me saying it.”

“Go on.”

“Mating.”

Cardan makes a choked sound.

“I don’t mean sex,” the Ghost says, with a glance at him. “I mean finding a mate. It’s something I’ve thought about, as someone who can’t have it. Sure, betas get to fall in love like everyone else, but we don’t get to have that… connection. That belonging.”

Neither Cardan nor I speak for a moment. We are both too busy looking at the ground. “It’s a lot of pressure,” I say slowly. “What if you pick the wrong person? How do you know?”

“You might.” The Ghost sits back in his chair, seeming to retreat back into himself. I have the feeling this is the most he’s spoken in one go for a long time. Then he says, “But what if you pick the right one?”

I open my mouth to reply when I am hit by another full-body shiver, and then my cramps return with a vengeance. I whimper and wrap my arms around my abdomen. “Ow.”

“She’s getting worse.” It’s Cardan who says it. He sounds newly panicked. “You have to help her. I can’t do it.”

The Ghost raises his eyebrows. “It’s okay for me to help her now?”

“Yeah, well, you were doing alright, keeping her distracted, so I guess you’re ready for more responsibility.”

I blink up at the Ghost, who’s already standing from his chair. “You were distracting me? How long has it been?”

“A good couple of hours. You like to argue.” He helps me out of my seat. “He’s not as stupid as he looks, is he?”

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. “No, he isn’t.” Standing takes most of my concentration, but I look back over my shoulder at Cardan, who’s rigid like he’s grown roots. His hands have a white-knuckled grip on the side of the chair. He nods at me, and I nod back at him and let the Ghost lead me away.

The door to our cell-room had been left open while we were talking around the table, so it’s no longer as stuffy. I let out a groan of relief when I sink down onto the mattress. My gross, terrible mattress. My itchy blankets. I am so happy to be back in a visceral way that I don’t quite understand. Because it’s my “nest,” I guess. I want to wrap myself up in the blankets and curl up in a little ball, but the Ghost is still standing here.

“We have to lock Cardan in with you at night,” he says quietly. He sounds apologetic. “Especially if it’s only me on watch. There won’t always be eyes on him.”

I shrug. “He hates me. I’ll be fine.”

The Ghost’s mouth presses into a thin line.

“Oh, what?” I scoff. “You’re taking your eyes off him right now.”

“Yeah, because I can feel his eyes boring holes in my shirt.”

I snicker. I have decided that as far as people who’ve shot me go, the Ghost really isn’t so bad. “Hey,” I begin, wincing through another cramp, determined to keep distracting myself. “Why are you doing this? The Bomb said she’s sticking with whoever you work for because she owes them. Same for you?”

“No,” he says flatly. “I’m too far in to get out.”

“That can’t be true. I mean, if you go to the police, bargain for immunity in exchange for testimony…”

He gives me a dour look that says I’m being incredibly naive. “Ask me whose house this was.”

I blink at him, wondering if the connection should be obvious and the fever is slowing down my brain. “Whose house… was it?”

“It was being built as a weekend home for someone’s mistress. It was never finished.”

“Why? What happened to her?”

He looks me over, withdrawing further into himself. “It doesn’t matter. I’ll get you more medicine. You should rest. The second half is going to be harder than the first.”

“It is?” I ask, my voice sounding small and pathetic, but he has already left.

---

I don’t remember much about the next twenty-four hours. Just flashes, impressions, snippets of conversation. People are in and out of the room, making sure my water bottle is full, replacing it if it isn’t, giving me pills, for all the good they do. At first it’s the Ghost, but eventually it’s the Bomb, which means she’s come back. My ears, straining to pick out Cardan’s voice through the closed door, hear the Roach’s laugh, so he’s returned too.

It’s a bad day. It doesn’t take me long to sweat right through my dress, and it takes even less time for my shorts to soak through. The medicine can’t keep my temperature in check anymore, only drive it down to a balmy one hundred. I am miserable, and I am bored. There is nothing for me to do but stare at the wall, and even if there were, I probably couldn’t focus on it. My head feels like it’s being weighed down by a bag of rocks. The only thing that seems fully awake and alive is my libido, spiky and insistent. I didn’t know it was possible to feel this sick and this aroused. Masturbation doesn’t help. Nothing helps.

I am aware of Cardan coming back into the room, hours later. I am aware of his footsteps on the floor, the sound of him sitting heavily on the floor. I get a fresh waft of lavender; he showered again before coming in. Even though I had been dozing and wish again to be unconscious, I do pick up my head to look at him.

“Hi,” I say.

He raises one hand in greeting. “Hey.” He looks less like himself than ever, pale and drawn and wilting, and his brows are drawn. But he’s still handsome. Even the paleness benefits him, setting off his dark hair. Like a vampire. I have the urge to press my mouth to the column of his neck again.

Instead, I ask, “What’s wrong?”

“Aside from everything?” Cardan sighs. “I don’t know. The Bomb and the Roach came back, but something is weird. They wouldn’t talk about it in front of me.”

“Oh,” I say. That should mean something to me, but it doesn’t right now. I can’t fit the pieces together.

He sighs again, a longer sigh this time. “And I’m feeling like a pretty shitty alpha,” he says.

“Why?” I ask, drawing my knees in tighter to my chest. “Because you haven’t boned me yet?”

Another strangled noise escapes him. I’m getting used to those little squawks. “One, never say ‘boned’ again. And two, no.” He sounds sullen. He rakes his hand through his hair. “Because I’m not taking care of you.”

My brain short-circuits. “What?”

“I talked to the Roach about it.” He pauses. “I mean… if we were paired up, if we were doing this on purpose, it should be me. I should be helping you. Instead I have to let other people do it.”

“But we’re not paired up, and that is taking care of me. In these circumstances…”

I trail off, and he shrugs. “Yeah, I guess.”

“It sucks,” I say, as if agreeing with him. “And it’s—I’m just scared.”

He tsks, tossing his hair out of his face. “Nothing scares you.”

I pull the blankets tighter around my shoulders. “That’s not true. I’m scared all the time. It’s why I’m so angry at everything, everyone. At myself.”

Cardan is quiet for a moment, then says, “I guess I get that.”

I wonder if he does. There is a lot I still don’t know about Cardan. “If the last year has shown me anything, it’s that I can’t control anybody else’s behavior. Locke. Taryn. Valerian.” I shift. “Just me. It’s just me. I’m the only thing in my control.”

He smiles, weakly. “Slow down, Hamilton.”

“It’s Burr. And that’s not the lyric.”

“Whatever. Nerd.”

My own smile is transient. “Anyway, now I’m not even in my control. Now I have to be afraid of myself. So that… it just sucks.”

“Yeah.” After another stretch of silence, Cardan asks, “Are you afraid of me?”

I don’t answer him right away. Because the answer, of course, is yes. Yes, I have been afraid of him for such a long time. Yes, I am afraid of what he represents, the power and the system set against me. Yes, I am afraid of the way he affects me, the things I want to do, the vulnerability in me.

But the answer, in some strange way, as we have languished in our cell, has also become no.

“I,” I begin, but then there is another urgent cramp, another painful jolt of arousal on its heels, and I groan. “Oh, god.”

Cardan’s eyes widen in alarm. “You don’t have to answer that,” he says quickly. “Just… just relax. Just chill. I’ll stay over here.”

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” I manage through gritted teeth, clutching my stomach. It is, of course, worse.

Trying to get comfortable, I toss and turn for ages, but I must fall asleep through the pain because the next thing I know, Cardan is gone again, and I am holding a scrap of soft cloth in my arms. On instinct, I bring it to my nose. It smells like Cardan, that musky smell he’s taken on in the last couple of days. Warmth bursts in my chests like a firework. It’s his shirt. He left his shirt with me. What is he wearing now?

It doesn’t matter. I don’t care. I nuzzle the fabric. It is not exactly soft, a little grimy from lack of washing, but saturated with his scent. I am amazed at how my brain calms just from this one, simple thing. My horniness problem is not solved, though, so I slide my hand into my shorts to take care of it, my face still pressed to Cardan’s shirt. It muffles my cries when I come, but I’m honestly too far gone to care if I am heard. After I am finished, I wriggle out of my dress, pull the shirt over my head, and promptly fall back asleep.

I doze fitfully. Someone comes to replace the water bottle, which briefly wakes me long enough that I roll around for a few minutes before I’m out again. I don’t mind that the mattress is lumpy or that the blankets scratch my skin; whenever something begins to bother me too much, I stick my nose in the collar of Cardan’s shirt and breathe in, which is usually enough to soothe me.

I’m not sure whether I’m dreaming or awake when I feel someone press the bottle to my lips and say, “Drink, Jude.” It sounds like the Roach, or maybe Madoc. I open my mouth and manage a couple of swallows of water before putting my head back down and dragging the blankets up over my shoulders.

“Is she still asleep?” I hear Cardan ask. His voice is hushed. The smell of him doesn’t bother me so much now that I have his shirt, but I do scent him and groan softly, pressing my face into the pillow.

“Mostly,” says probably-the-Roach.

There’s a pause, then Cardan asks, “Can I do it?”

“You shouldn’t.”

“I know, but I want to help.” Something shuffles, like he’s kicked at the floor. “She’s only like this because of me.”

The Roach sighs, then says, “All right. Come over, but be careful.”

I hear Cardan’s footsteps on the floor, and then a hand pushes some of my hair off of my sweaty face, dragging down to skim my cheek. I lean into his hand. It feels so good to be touched.

“Jude, hey,” he says quietly. “Can you pick your head up a little higher for me?”

There’s something beneath his voice, a dark undertow that pulls me down. I find that I want to do what he says, which isn’t a remotely comforting thought. But I pick up my head, and he keeps one hand against my jaw as he tips the jug against my mouth. A little water trickles down my neck, wetting the shirt he lent me, but I swallow most of it down.

“That’s good.” He takes the jug away and sets it back down on the floor. I can hear the strain in his words, like he’s fighting with himself. “Really good.”

His hand finds my hair again, and I would do anything for him to just keep running his fingers through it, but then the Roach says, “I think that’s enough.”

Cardan disentangles his fingers from my hair and stands; I hear him step back. “It’s just so weird,” he says. “It’s weird to see her like this. She hates—she never asks for help. I’ve never seen her vulnerable.”

“Well, her body’s treating it like a sickness,” the Roach says. “But we’re looking out for her. Another, what, day or so? Less than a day? And she should be free and clear. And hopefully by then this will all be over and we can let you guys out.”

“Yeah.” There’s a pause, and then, “Thanks.”

The Roach chuckles. “Don’t thank me, kid. We kidnapped you.”

“I know, but.” Cardan hesitates. “Is it weird that in some ways I’d rather be here than home?”

“Pretty weird, yeah.”

“Yeah.” Then, lowering his voice to a whisper, he asks, “Jude?”

I say nothing, do nothing. I want to keep eavesdropping. He wouldn’t be saying half of this if he thought I was awake. So I keep my breathing low and even, and let him say what he wants.

But he says nothing, and for a second I think he’s getting ready to leave me alone again. Then I hear him take a step—toward me—and his hand is briefly back in my hair. I feel warm lips against my forehead, soft and fleeting like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. I have to fight my every instinct not to lean up into the kiss and give myself away, but then his hand and lips are both gone. I hear the quick retreat of his footsteps, the closing of the door.

“It’s not fair,” I whisper to the empty cell. “You can’t just leave me with that.”

But he can, and he did, because he assumed I was asleep. He left me with the memory of a forehead kiss, with a whispered conversation to dissect, and a tingling feeling throughout my entire body.

“I hate you so much,” I say, curling closer around his shirt. There is no answer but my erratic heartbeat, drumming out a truth I am almost, but not quite, ready to hear.

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